


Artistic Depression

by imaginationtherapy



Series: The Kaleidoscope Project [30]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Artists, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Free Verse, Poetry, Prose Poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:28:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: You do not get to tell me that my creativity is worth more than my sanity. You do not get to use my art against me.





	Artistic Depression

_Taking advantage of our pain_  
Just to win you fame:  
Painting our struggles with these tortured colors.  
Let us drown amongst our tears  
Paying us with your sneers:  
Romanticise our battles with wisdom-soaked missals.  
Trap us with our monsters  
Convinced that makes us authors:  
Crafting despondency into words we write so bravely 

My pain is my own, not some currency you can use to brighten your own darkened days. My scars are from battles I have fought-- for my own life-- not some neat and cozy selection of words you can read by the fire at night. If I have made peace with the voices that keep me company every waking hour, it is for my own benefit that I tell you this. I expose my anguish in hopes of reaching others like me, not for your pleasure. I will seek the help and the healing that I need--for me. Not for you. I will not stay trapped in this dark, twisted world of my own mind just to please you in your pursuit of “artists” and “creativity”. I am not a commodity. I am someone who deserves saving. I am someone who deserves to be loved--not in compartments but as a whole. I am someone who deserves the ability to craft her art into something greater than these outlets of my fears. I have gift and it is not limited to the expression of the darkness from which I have grown. You cannot force me to remain in this cage, out of hopes that I will create beautiful representations of sunflowers and anthropomorphic illustrations of colors. You will let me go. You will let me grow. You will not bottle my illness into a neat package that you can sell at a market. You will not use my art, then turn around and shove me back for my weakness. You will not tell me how to heal. You will not hang a label of shame around my neck, while also praising me for how I have coped with such a horrific disability.


End file.
